Cathedral
It’s so familiar, being upset but not at anything in particular. I wish he was a little different, but mostly he is the same. I thought I was different but I’m not really, at least in the way I feel about him.
When I went to leave on the second and last night he said something about us living in different locations and that he wishes me well. I said that maybe we’ll meet again, but then again maybe not. He talked about coming to visit me in my city but I don’t believe him. I do know that I am not his girl, and that breaks my heart. I could never really be mad at him though, this is what people do and I knew it all along.
The first night we drank wine and walked and sat on the end of the pier watching the lights turn on, talking and laughing. It was so sweet, he said it was a day to remember. The next night we went up to this beautiful park with the best view in the city. We sat on the balcony of the abandoned house and on top of the boulder with the stone carved head, watching the sun set. We didn’t speak much then but it wasn’t necessary. I thought about how maybe this is why stripes are a popular pattern, they look the way the sky looks during some sunsets. On our way back through the field I picked a flower and decided that it smelled like lemons and sage. I told him this and gave it to him and he stuck it in his lapel. I picked another and tucked it behind my ear, and then I put it in the little trough in the passenger side door of his car for the other girls to find, which I know is crazy. Another girl broke his heart and he loves her more than me, and that’s why he came to see me, because I love him more than he loves me and that’s a nice change of pace for him.
He said it was worth the trip. I bet it was. He ate it on his knees while I was standing in the shower. He did well and I had an orgasm that way the next night. I returned the favor after and he said you’re good at that, I said it’s for the love of the game which was an inside joke and he laughed. We had sex and it was sweet but he was done quickly. It just sort of crumbled after that and I saw how things really are. This was quick too. It’s how it goes.
I bought another book by Raymond Carver on my trip. I had read What We Talk About When We Talk About Love many times before, and circumstances made me not want to continue my reread. Cathedrals is the one I picked up from a local book shop. I went to the shop with both of my parents, and they bought it for me. I showed my dad what I had picked out, and he said he knew of Raymond Carver and had read one of his collections before but couldn’t remember the title. I asked him if it was What We Talk About and he said yes that’s it, have you read it? I said that not only have I read it but I have a copy of it on me. An old man in the shop was listening to our conversation and smiled at me when I said this.
I read the first and last stories in the collection on the plane home, Feathers and of course Cathedral. I love Cathedral; this was my second read of it, the first when I was in high school. After the story ended I read the About the Author section, and learned that Carver was born and lived not too far from where I live now. Maybe that is part of why I connect with his writing the way I do, that I can relate to a part of his perspective. I’ve found out after getting to know them that several of my favorite authors lived in places that I also have connections to. Another example is Alice Munro. I talked to my mom about her, and she said that she is one of her favorite as well. She lived so close to my grandma in rural Ontario that it’s likely they met.
Mom retired recently and has been taking a writing class. They are working on autobiographical essays, and were given a lesson about crafting a persona that tells the reader something about who they are. I think about this too. Maybe it shines through in what I write, maybe it doesn’t. Maybe I’ll set up an option to message me and you can let me know what you think.